


A Prelude

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Maglor [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:59:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maglor is forced to retreat to his brother’s castle during the Battle of the Sudden Flame and he is not very happy about it. His last meeting with Maedhros did not go very well and he fears how Maedhros would react on seeing him. </p><p>[bridges the Journal of Fingolfin and the Journal of Maglor]</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Prelude

 

×××

 

“Just visit him and be done with it,” my wife remarked as I continued rifling through my correspondence, seeking wistfully for a letter addressed in that cramped and peculiar hand. There had been none for a long time. Perhaps he had given up.

“I was merely searching for a letter from Artanis,” I retorted, feeling distinctly uncomfortable that she had guessed so easily.

She laughed; a tinkling sound that made me smile grudgingly. I turned to face her. She was seated on the bed, her brown hair tousled and damp from a bath. She had not bothered to dress, and was clad in naught but the silken sheets that covered her torso. 

“Positively indecent,” I said, my voice turning rough despite my best effort.

“I didn’t see the point of wearing clothes that you would anyway rip off sooner or later.” She shrugged; her eyes mischievous and daring as she regarded me. 

“You have a very valid point, I believe,” I allowed. 

I searched my correspondence once again in vain. She tutted in disapproval and walked naked across the chamber to join me by the desk.

“You are making me embarrassed,” I complained. “Where is your ladylike decorum?”

“I seem to have left it behind in the bath,” she laughed. 

Her warm, brown eyes were gleaming in promise as she raised her head to press a kiss to my jaw. The sensation of her soft, yielding, full lips gliding over the sensitive skin under my jaw was too excruciating to bear and I gasped. A low, throaty laugh escaped her lips sending a shudder down my spine. 

When her fingers came to rest on my waist, it was all I could do not to crush her soft form against me. I gripped her hips and in one swift movement, gathered her into my arms. She shrieked in surprise as she was lifted off her legs into my hold. I laughed, carrying her to the bed where we proceeded to indulge in unspeakably passionate acts. 

“I love you.” Her voice shook slightly as we lay panting in each other’s arms at the end of the cataclysmic passion.

“I love you too.” I kissed her damp forehead. “Particularly when you look so debauched.”

She laughed softly, her eyes still faraway and thoughtful. I cast my mind for any other subject. The matter of love was not one which I wanted to think upon.

“Who is it?” she asked quietly.

“I beg your pardon,” I raised myself and rested my head on an elbow, looking down at her fondly. 

“Artanis?” she continued tentatively.

“I think you are destroying our post-coital languor,” I complained petulantly. 

“Why did you marry me?” It seemed to be one of those days; she would never believe that I loved her, however much I tried to assure her of the fact.

“I love you,” I tried again, though I was afraid that it would not suffice.

“Don’t bandy those words about so frivolously when you can never mean them,” she sighed. “Macalaurë, I married you because I felt I could learn to love you. It was proved true. I have come to love you above all else.”

I did not reply, feeling disastrously at a loss for words. Unhelpful images rose in my mind; of standing penitently before my aghast brother, of trying to beg him for forgiveness, of the harrowing pain which had followed because of his well-deserved tirade, of my reckless decision to marry and to leave him alone with his demons. 

“I thought you might come to trust me, even if love was never on the cards.” Her quiet voice was all the more painfully intense for the small hitch in her breath, betraying how much it cost her to utter those words. 

I stared at the ceiling, wishing desperately that I was anywhere but here, ensconced in the warmth of our post-coital embrace and trapped by her unusual interrogation. Not for the first time I rued that I had not taken Artanis’s advice. She had asked me to marry a docile, easily misled woman. My wife was neither docile nor was she easily misled. 

Before I could think of something sensible enough to say, shouting arose from the palace and I heard cries of ‘DRAGON!”

“Macalaurë!” My wife’s wide, brown startled eyes spurred me into action. 

“Gather the woman and the children into the palace, my dear.” I bent to press a kiss to her lips. “It will be all right.”

Before she could reply, I threw on my robes and rushed out of the chamber, my warrior’s reflexes easily summoned forth at need.

I rushed to the ramparts to find a black cloud spreading from the west. 

“The dragon, my lord,” one of my commanders said worriedly. “They say that it has killed our riders on the plains.”

“How many archers do we have?” 

“Two hundred or less, my lord, but I fear that Glaurung has come to his full strength. Arrows and swords shall not avail us.”

“Send riders to my brother, Carnistro,” I said briskly. “Let the women and children be brought to safety.”

“We cannot last a siege, my lord,” the commander said sadly. “Glaurung’s reign of terror shall be too powerful.”

“We shall leave, then.” My wife’s voice broke into the conversation.

“I beg your pardon, Carnilote?” I raised my eyebrows disapprovingly. “What are you doing here? I thought my instructions were clear.”

She met my gaze coolly before saying, “We cannot defend the land, Macalaurë. Lives shall be lost in vain should you persist in staying on. Prudence dictates that we evacuate as soon as we can.”

“Run away?” I asked incredulously, even as my eyes regarded the steadily nearing black cloud of destruction with fear.

“The lady is right, my lord,” my commander said quietly. “We cannot hope to gain anything by defending the land. We can at least save the children and the womenfolk if we leave.”

“And, pray,” I began bitingly, “where would we leave for? For all we know, my cousins, Aikanaro and Angarato are dead. Their lands abutted the enemy’s keep! And there have been no tidings from Hithlum. Findaráto’s fate too seems uncertain. I hear that Tyelkormo and Atarinkë have fled their lands, overrun by the enemy. Where will we run to?”

“My lord-”

“Send word to Carnistro. We will hold our defences.”

“Carnistro will flee to Umbarto’s lands. He cannot hold Thargelion if you fall.” 

“Have you been waylaying my messengers?” I asked my wife acerbically. 

“I am speculating.” She raised her chin scornfully at my accusation.

“Well,” I remarked, “your speculations are without basis. I fully intend not to let my defences fail. Now, if you would gather the womenfolk inside, I can see to our lands.”

“There is nothing you can do, Macalaurë. It is a fully grown dragon which heralds the enemy.”

“For the last time, Carnilote!” I began exasperated.

“MY LORD!” A rider rushed into the courtyard, his smoking plume and broken armour alarming me. Then I saw that one of his arms lacked a hand. Nausea struck me hard as vivid memories that lingered ever beneath my calm resurfaced.

Manfully, I cleared my throat and asked him, “What tidings?”

“Lord Carnistro flees to the twins even as we speak, my lord! We cannot hope to survive the dragon’s wrath! A trail of fire and ashes has it reaped all across the plains.”

“Prepare to leave,” Carnilote said briskly.

“I must remind you that-” I spluttered in anger.

She nodded to the other commanders as if assuring them that she would manage her difficult husband. They smiled grimly and hurried away. I was left alone, staring at the fumes to the west. 

“Where do you intend to lead my people to?” I whispered, not wishing to hear the answer at all.

“You know where you shall lead them to, Macalaurë.” There was pity and a wealth of confusion in her voice. She had never understood the true reasons behind my discord with my elder brother. 

“To join Carnistro, perhaps?” I asked dully. 

“To Himring.” She gripped my wrist and I was forced to meet her concerned eyes. I offered her a wan smile. 

“We must do the best for our people, Macalaurë. Leading them to Himring is the only option. Your brother will hold the pass of Aglon, I am certain.”

“There is a dragon on the way. I doubt even Russandol can hold the pass.” 

Then again, he might. He could be incredibly reckless at times. A flutter of worry churned my gastric juices. He would be the death of me. I cursed under my breath, trying to push him out of my thoughts. 

“Come.” My wife tugged me. “We must prepare to leave.” 

×××

 

We would not have made it but for my wife’s incredible stores of stoic pragmatism. Perhaps I had done the right thing in marrying her after all, I decided. 

“Eat something.” She pressed a piece of stale bread into my hands.

“No.” 

I was still staring at the fair lands I had ruled. Perhaps I would never see them again. Something extremely painful stirred me. It felt hard to breathe. I scowled and turned away from the land Carnistro had teasingly named ‘Maglor’s Gap’. 

“Water?” She waved a hollow, misshapen gourd before my eyes.

My throat felt parched and I was sure that I would never sing of anything happy again. I had lost my lands. I was a failure, I knew. My father would have rightly exclaimed that I was all pride and no potential. 

“Do stop scowling and drink some water, Macalaurë!” The warning in her tone made me meekly obey.

“You look as if you were a lamb being led to slaughter at Morgoth’s altar!” she said teasingly. “We are going to your brother’s lands, for Eru’s sake!”

“Morgoth would have been preferable,” I muttered under my breath. 

×××

 

We were welcomed by my brother’s commanders and led hastily into the castle. I joined the war council of Himring and fortified the lands as well as I could. My brother was still holding vigil in the Pass of Aglon, I was relieved to hear. I had no wish to see him in such circumstances, as weary and defeated as I was. 

“It is a huge risk,” I overheard one of my warriors saying, “and ill-advised. Lord Nelyafinwë would do better to return and defend his keep.”

The ever-present panic flared in me. I resolutely walked away from the conversation and stared across the dull expanse of the valley between the hills. 

“Are you well?” Carnilote asked me.

“Indeed.” I ruminated bleakly about my misfortunes before asking her, “Why do you think he tries to hold the pass?”

“You have not understood that yet?” she laughed.

I glared at her before returning to my dreary regard of the land. 

“If he hadn’t held the pass, do you think we could have escaped with our lives?” she asked me quietly.

“The dragon will kill him,” I whispered. The black pall of smoke still covered the western skies.

“The dragon has more sense than facing your brother,” she remarked. “Glaurung’s fire does not surpass the White Flame of Himring.”

‘The White Flame of Himring’…that is how they were calling him. I sighed and kept to my disturbed vigil in the courtyard of the coldest fortress that would ever be built in history.

×××

 

Our standards fluttered bravely in the westwind and bugles sounded, heralding the arrival of the castle’s lord. Carnilote was occupied with the concerns of the orphans and the widows. I felt uneasily alone as I stood in the courtyard waiting for my brother. 

The bustle of the riders as they dismounted from the horses; the hails of welcome to those who had returned; the cries of grief and dismay as the tidings of death were spoken…it all reminded me of my loss. 

Then I saw those grey eyes, eyes as wistful as the coiling bonfire smoke at dusk and as dark as the moisture laden rainclouds above East Beleriand. They widened startled as they perceived me. I stood woodenly still as those eyes neared me, tormenting me with all that had happened between us. 

“Macala-”

“I am glad to see you are safe,” I broke in abruptly. 

I could not let him finish uttering my name. My façade of stoic calm would shatter, I knew, and once again, I would go through the pain of the past. 

He nodded and moved forward as if to embrace me. I stiffened. Did that mean he had forgotten and forgiven the past? Or was he pretending that our easy brotherhood was restored?

“Is everyone safe?” I stepped backwards and tried to ignore the confusion and sadness in those remarkable eyes. 

He took a deep breath and removed his helm. A weary smile escaped me when the profusion of those ever-unruly crimson tresses tumbled awry about his face, making his aristocratic features all the more compelling. He raked his fingers through his hair to sweep the curls out of his face. 

“Well?” I asked him.

“Findekáno and Nolofinwë have defended Hithlum. Findaráto has retreated to Nargothrond and Atarinkë and Tyelkormo have joined him. Aikanaro and Angarato are…” He took another deep breath. “They were slain. Carnistro and the twins have escaped to Ossiriand. I hear they are on the Amon Ereb. I had been worried to death about you.” His words faltered and turmoil clouded his eyes. “You were in the path of the dragon. I feared you wouldn’t leave the land.”

“ Carnilote persuaded me to leave,” I said dully. “If not for her, I would have been slain there.”

He flinched ever so slightly before saying in a quiet voice, “Then I am grateful to her, more than I can say.”

I did not try to read into those words. I feared that what he meant and what I wished to hear would never converge. 

“My lord!” A young, concerned face bobbed before us. Impatient hand tugged at my brother’s elbow complaining, “You must come and bathe and eat and try to sleep!”

“My valet, Aldor,” he explained with a wry smile. “He is very enthusiastic as regards my welfare.”

“You never take care of your health!” the boy exclaimed.

Sudden, fiery jealousy flared within me as my brother allowed himself to be led away by the boy. Aldor was human, I reassured myself pettily. He would never have time enough. Or would he? Thoroughly unsettled, I began pacing in the courtyard. The meeting had gone well than I had a right to expect. But I felt frustrated, all the same.

×××

 

We received reports from our family all through that week. Our young nephew, Telpë, was well and safe in Círdan’s castle. The message brought us deep relief, for Telpë was the only scion of the elder house of Finwë. I was childless, Atarinkë was a widower and none of my other brothers had married. 

It was during the noon of a dreary day that a lone rider entered the courtyard. My brother was in a war council and so I received the messenger.

A single sentence was written in a hand that I knew well. 

“Nolofinwë is dead.”

Blood rushed into my ears as I stood shocked. I could hear very distinctly the dull droning of the ladybugs from the lone flower bush that resolutely bloomed in the courtyard. The scroll fell from my fingers and I wondered what I would tell my brother.

“Macalaurë?” 

My wife bent to pick up the scroll from the ground and straightened it. Her fine features were marred by a frown as she read the message. She cleared her throat once before saying quietly, “How will he take it?”

“Very hard.” There was no reason to lie. 

×××

 

I nursed a goblet of wine as I waited patiently for his valet to leave the chamber. I feared my brother’s reaction. He had cast me a curious glance when I had requested to speak privately. He had consented easily, though. It heartened me that he did trust me enough for that. Perhaps he felt assured that I would not initiate improprieties under his roof. 

“I fear that the lad has got it into his good head that I am an invalid in need of constant care,” he said brightly as he came to stand before me.

I set aside the goblet and rose to my feet. Something in my expression must have given away my fear, for all joviality drained away from his face.

“What is it?” he asked me in a hushed voice.

“Nolofinwë is dead. Findekáno has sent a messenger.” The words escaped me in a rush. I did not know how else to tell him. 

He parted his lips in a silent gasp. I had never seen fear alive on his face except when he was in the throes of nightmares. But as he stood before the hearth, the light of the fire playing on his carved features, I understood how fear looked on his face and it unsettled me deeply. His fingers trembled as he raised them to his forehead. 

“Macalaurë.”

The hoarse, broken tone in which he spoke belied his emotions. A storm brewed silently within his grey eyes and I knew that if I did not avert it, it would reap him a path to self-destruction. 

“He missed our father so.” 

An empty platitude was all that I could offer him. He shook his head and stared at his feet, trying so desperately not to vent his grief. I was torn between wishing to embrace him and willing myself to give him the privacy to mourn alone.

I did not trust myself to speak, not when he was bare inches from absolute discomposure. I cleared my throat and took a step away from him, and towards the door. 

“Macalaurë.” 

The frantic plea in his voice undid vows and oaths that I had sworn before many a deity. I turned to face him and my resolution was undone. The next thing I knew, my hands were around him, clutching him to me in a desperate embrace. He exhaled and rested his head in the crook of my shoulder. I felt his chest tremble as he tried to will in his grief. My fingers ran over the taut ribs of his back soothingly and he sighed. 

“My lord?”

It was Aldor. I mentally cursed the boy’s enthusiasm when my brother hastily pulled away from me and passed a discreet hand over his eyes, clearing his throat as he did so. 

“Are you-” I began only to be cut off by a wave of his hand.

“I will see to our fortifications and await further messengers from our kin. Please speak to my second if there is anything lacking in the castle’s hospitality. My regards to your wife,” he concluded dismissively. Something akin to guilt surfaced on his calm features for a moment before he masked it with great effect.

I tried to ascertain his state but his clear grey eyes withheld everything. Frustrated, I left the chamber. Had he feared that I would take advantage of his grief? Perhaps he did not trust me at all. I hated the race of diplomats as a rule. But I am sure that I had never hated more than I did at that instant, for my brother was among the finest practitioners of the art of diplomacy.

×××

 

“I am afraid that the dragon has completely defiled the land and made it unsuitable for colonization,” my brother was telling my wife.

“Yes,” she nodded gravely. “I had expected that. At least, we were able to save many. Swords and arrows would not have availed our warriors in a fight against the dragon. What hand-wrought weapon can bring down such a beast?”

“Our weapons can.” Premonition rung in my brother’s words. “Terror and fire shall be brought low by a black sword.”

It was said that he had inherited the trait from our grandmother, Míriel Serindë, the Broidress of the Noldor. I feared his premonitions. The ability had done Miriel more harm than good. I did not wish the same to happen to my brother. I shook my head to dispel the gloomy thoughts and forced myself to pay attention to their conversation.

My brother was acting as if nothing had ever happened to cause a breach between us. His words and glances betrayed nothing but the fondest brotherly regard. All was forgiven, then. 

“Perhaps we could move to Hithlum,” my wife said.

“Oh!” my brother exclaimed. “I will not hear the idea of my brother moving away from my castle when there is ample land here! I missed him so during these years. And I have never had the chance to know you better. Certainly, my good lady, you will not deny me the pleasure of your company?”

She laughed and looked at me, entirely taken in by his chivalric speech. I glared at him. How reckless could he get? Offering me a place under his roof when he knew well the dark secret that was my burden to bear! 

“I am afraid that I cannot stay. Perhaps we could join Carnistro, my dear,” I said to my wife haughtily.

“Please, Macalaurë,” my brother asked again. “Will you stay at least until the lands are safer? I cannot bear the thought of you in peril during the journey.”

“Your brother is right, Macalaurë.” My wife gently squeezed one of my fisted hands. “We will stay until the paths are less perilous.”

×××

 

“What is wrong?” Carnilote asked me as soon as I entered our bedchamber. “You act strangely in your brother’s presence. He tries to set you at ease. The pair of you makes me think of a newly married couple doing their best not to offend each other.”

“I must beg you to desist using such colorful comparisons!” I protested fervently, trying not to wonder about her choice of words. “I see nothing amiss in my relationship with him. We have never been close because of the age difference.”

“I see.” The hard set of her jaw told me that she saw more than I wished her to.

“Where were we?” I asked her, summoning sufficient enthusiasm to create a suitable diversion that would take her mind off these dangerous paths that it was unraveling.

“I beg your pardon?” she raised her eyebrows.

“We had been in the middle of transcendental sexual union before the dragon interrupted us so rudely.”

She laughed, clearly taken aback by my not so subtle attempt to initiate sex. It had never happened before. She was always the one to start the proceedings. She liked the change, I realized, for she gave me a sultry, inviting look from beneath half-lidded eyes as she reclined on the silken mattress. 

I had diverted her for the moment. Grateful for the reprieve, I cast off my robes and joined her on the mattress. I would need to take harsh measures to circumvent this situation sooner or later. Trapped between a wary brother and a discerning wife, I knew that my secret would not stay suppressed very long.

But at the moment, there was only warmth, laughter, soft moans and roaming fingers. I pressed a last, chaste kiss to her sweat-slicked neck and murmured sweet nothings into her ear as I slid into my dreams. 

I had yet not succumbed to slumber when I heard her whisper softly, “I was foolish enough to fall in love with you. Where will it end?” 

She had thought that I was already ensnared by dreams. Never did she again speak those words aloud. She was proud, after all and did the best to spare us both the indignity of faking our emotions. So I pretended that she was the love of my life and she responded with charm and affection. At nights, it was I who whispered of love and eternal bonds while she remained a silent witness to my wistful lies. 

Then a missive came from Findekáno, recalling her to Hithlum for her father’s funeral. She asked me to accompany her. But I did not. I tried to put on my aloofest air and ranted poetically about the uselessness of funerals. She did not heed my cruel words, for she was too used to the occasional bursts of the bard in me. 

I stood in the courtyard, watching her ride away with the escort my brother had arranged. Then I turned back to see wary, grey eyes watching me from a window overlooking the yard. I sighed and entered the castle. 

It would be a long winter.

 

×××

 

References:

Canon:

Maglor joins Maedhros at Himring after Dagor Bragollach, the Battle of Sudden Flame. 

“The enemy overwhelmed the riders of the people of Fëanor upon Lothlann, for Glaurung came thither, and passed through Maglor's Gap, and destroyed all the land between the arms of Gelion. Thence they passed over Gelion with fire and terror and came far into East Beleriand. Maglor joined Maedhros upon Himring.” (The Silmarillion.)

The Song of Sunset AU:

The story forms a bridge between The Journal of Fingolfin, which ends abruptly with Fingon’s single line entry noting the death of his father, and The Journal of Maglor, the opening scene of which is set in Himring after the war. 

 

×××


End file.
